I’ll be back in a few hours, I called out. At this point, I had 20 miles to go.
I walked up the steep hill at Palani and then ran down the Queen K. That first downhill was great - almost 8 minutes of running. If I can run that long, I can run that long, I told myself. The lesson I learned from Sami and put into practice earlier in the year came through: you must get back to running as soon as you can. I started rolling. If I was on a downhill, I would run longer than my 4:1 run:walk ratio. If I was on an uphill, I would run four street lights and walk one. If I was within sight of an aid station, I would not stop until I got to the aid station.
By the time I made it up on the Queen K, the heat from the sun had dissipated, but the tarmac was still hot and the humidity was like a summer day here at home. It was pretty quiet - our side of the highway was still blocked off and the traffic was light on the other side of the road. There were lots of bugs - cockroaches - creepy crawling around. I could hear the shuffling feet of the other runners and muted conversations between them. From up on the hill at one of the intersections a dog barked and barked and barked. I was pretty sure it was going to set off a volcano. The breeze picked up as I finished miles 11 and 12 and a few minutes later, I passed Ashley. I was in a zone and I didn’t even call out to her. I just kept moving forward. In my mind, I still had to finish by 11:10PM to make it on time.
I was happy to see the Natural Energy Lab. In most races, your personal needs bag is stashed at the halfway point of the run. But, not Kona. Oh, no. The personal needs station was way out after the turn-around in the energy lab AT. MILE. 17!!! Seventeen is not 13. You head three miles into the lab before you turn around and then you still have one mile to get back to the personal needs area. I was ready for a stroop waffle and skittles and more Skratch blueberry chews. The surprise treat in that bag was a pack of mustard. Actually, two little mustard packets gave me a little kick!
The saving grace of the energy lab is that it is beautiful at night. You can’t even see the water treatment plant (though you can smell the tell-tale deodorant they must use world-wide to cover the smell of treated water). You can smell the salty spray and I swear the waves were crashing so big I felt salt spray at the turn-around. And the sky…..the sky was incredible. The only lights out there were at the aid stations. In between each there was pitch-blackness. I would look up a bit and see the skies punctuated with stars and planets.
And at just the right time, I saw a shooting star.
I have seen only one other shooting star in a race and that was Coeur d’Alene. I was in a similar situation - running behind the clock. At that race I was about two miles from the finish and I knew I could make it. I was running by a cemetery and suddenly a star streaked across the sky. It was so bright that the handful of spectators at the corner shouted, Fireworks! This shooting star in the sky at Kona was not bright but it burst across the entire realm and fizzled somewhere far over the ocean. I immediately thought of my mom and a flicker of hope caught in my throat.
I have learned in all these years of running that a marathon is the closest thing you’ll come to feeling the stages of grief. It will release the denial, the bargaining, the anger, the sadness and the acceptance. Over and over and over again. The rest of the run consisted of a lot of bargaining, sparks of anger at things beyond my control and the acceptance of a possible defeat.
The bargaining looked like: If you run up this hill, you can walk all the way up the next one. If you run all the way to the next aid station, you can buy an extra shirt the merch tent. If you pass this woman ahead of you, you can have two pina coladas for breakfast. If you pass her again you can have four!
The anger looked like: I can’t believe how stupid this is. You should have skipped all the pre-race stuff - it made you tired. You should have done more Pilates. OHMYGOSH there’s a husband walking with his wife!! That’s cheating! Oh my gosh, Ironman lied! That man has on a bib. He is IN the race. This is bullshit. Women’s only race my ass. (I found out later that that man was the husband of an amazing blind athlete.)
The acceptance looked like: It’s going to be okay if you don’t finish in time. You’ve worked hard just to get to the start line. The finish line is icing on the cake. You can handle this. You’ll be able to cross the finish and get your medal - even if the time reflected is over 17 hours. The funny thing is that I wasn't discouraged. I think that was the true acceptance that I was not going to do what I set out to do.
Right before I came out of the energy lab, I had a moment of panic. My watch was dying. I looked down and it read 5%. It was not going to make another nine miles. I would lose my metronome, my run/walk alerts and the overall run time and the time of day. I wouldn’t be able to do any more math!!!
As I got back on the Queen K, under the street lights, I lifted my wrist right up to my eye and realized it was reading 50%. I laughed. Seriously?! I said out loud.
That (and the mustard packet) turned the tide. Look, Little Old Lady, I said to myself. You can’t do math, you can’t see without your readers. What you can do is run. You run until they drag you off this road. You run until they take your chip. You run and run and run.